What Once Was One (Book 2)

by Marc Johnson

  Many magical secrets must be buried in the tower. While I was scared of what I would find in there, a part of me was also excited.

  “I don’t see another way in,” Prastian said.

  I shook my head. “Me neither, and the gates are fortified by enchantments. Looks like we’re going to have to figure out a way to get past the guards.”

  The ogres were completely encased in shiny red armor with wicked spikes. It wasn’t dented, worn, or rusted like the armor most of the creatures in the city wore. The ogres stood at attention, scanning the occasional creature that passed by. Their huge longswords were unsheathed, points resting on the ground in front of them. They kept both hands on the pommels, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. The wolves, twice as big as normal dogs, were attached to metal posts with thick chains, long enough to allow them to cover all the ground in front of the gate. They barked and growled at everyone who came near.

  I glanced up at one of the tower’s open windows. Was Premier watching us even now from one of the shadowed alcoves? I looked back down, past the barking wolves and the ferocious ogres. I couldn’t worry about that now. First, we had to get past these guards.

  We were all quiet, trying to figure out how to get inside, as the low mist swirled around us. None of us could come up with any idea. It was getting late. I didn’t want to be camped out here with no protection, surrounded by thousands of creatures under these black clouds. There had to be a way.

  I clenched my fists and bit the inside of my lip, but it wasn’t me who came up with a plan. It was the goblin.

  His fear nearly made my knees buckle. A memory of him watching as a group of goblins were summoned and escorted into the tower flashed in my mind. He had worried that it was going to be him and his friends. Premier’s voice had boomed from the tower. Two hours later, the whole of Masep was chilled into silence as Premier’s pet ogre, Baal, hung the goblins from one of the windows. Their flayed bodies flapped in the wind, entrails dangling from their sliced abdominal cavities. They were meant to serve as an example of what befell those who displeased Premier.

  I wrapped my arms around me, shivering from that memory. But the memory of Premier’s disembodied voice emanating from the tower gave me an idea. I told the others of my plan and they agreed with it.

  We shuffled up to the gates and kept our heads down. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to ignore the frantic yelling of my goblin spirit. He wanted me to sprint away as fast as I could. He thought the same thing would happen to him as had happened to those other goblins, even though he was dead. Goblins never went into the tower. Ogres, yes. Trolls, occasionally, but never goblins unless they did something horribly wrong.

  I dragged my feet forward, remembering my duty. I summoned the wind and prepared to use a little trick Stradus had taught me. It wouldn’t require much magic, so hopefully Premier wouldn’t detect it. I recalled Premier’s smug, arrogant, voice as clearly as I could. The memory made me dig my fingernails into my hand. I could never forget his voice, nor what he had done to Krystal, to Alexandria, and to Stradus.

  “The little runts have come to die,” one of the ogres said, bearing down on my friends with his sword raised. The ogres sported malicious grins.

  Before the ogres or wolves could tear us apart, I bowed my head so no one could see my mouth, and muttered, “Let them pass.” Everyone heard Premier’s voice coming from the direction of the castle.

  “Master?” the ogres asked. They lowered their swords, confused looks on their faces.

  “Let them in and be quick about it!” I said, the voice booming along the stone bridge. The few creatures in the road stopped and gazed towards the castle. Gradually, the entire city fell into silence.

  The ogres put aside their swords. It took their combined strength to open the gates, the hinges creaking loudly. They each grabbed one of the barking wolves, holding them back as we passed by. The wolves howled and snapped at us, their ears pressed against their heads. The spell I’d used had contained no wolf blood, and they could see and smell us as we really were. At least they couldn’t communicate with the ogres. At least, I hoped they couldn’t.

  “We’ll soon be seeing their bodies strung up for the vultures to eat,” one of the ogres said, and laughed.

  I took point as we prepared to cross the wide, ancient stone bridge, ready to scout for any other magical safeguards, and to be the first line of defense if Premier or another guard peered out of one of the windows and saw us coming. Before starting out on the stone bridge, I stomped down hard on it, concerned about how secure it was. It was wide enough to carry carriages, horses, and whatever other monsters Renak had dreamed up, but the bridge looked like it had lost its war with time. Cracks raced under our feet and the edges of the bridge had chipped and fallen away like someone had taken a chisel to it.

  A wave of vertigo overcame me as I leaned over and examined the precipice underneath the bridge. The endless darkness at the bottom of the abyss wasn’t an empty void. Great power beat like a heart. I extended my wizard senses to see if I could tell what it was. I couldn’t. The only thing I knew was that it was intense. The sound called me and I swayed. I leaned farther out to get a better look, to understand it better, even though all I could see through the fog was blackness.

  A firm hand seized my arm, pulling me back before I could fall over. “Are you all right?” Prastian asked.

  I exhaled and put my fingers to my temples. “I’m fine.” Although I wasn’t. My head throbbed as the magic from beneath tugged at me.

  I thought it might be a trap Premier had set, but the magic was far too ancient to be his doing. What I feared was that Premier could tap into that power.

  We started over the bridge, which held despite the cracks and pits. The closer I got to the tower, the more residual energies came from it and caressed me. Would it harm me, like it had from the outskirts of the city when I tried to peek in? I glanced back at the ogres guarding the gates. There was no turning back now. We couldn’t leave and none of us had found another way in. I clenched my fists and focused on the princess, trying to remain calm. The tower’s magic crawled over me, and I braced myself for whatever might come.

  Now that I was inside the gates, the magic didn’t harm me, but it did open my eyes to what the tower really was—a focal point for magic such as I had never seen. It glowed. Waves of rainbow colors swelled over it. It was no longer a drab, black tower of death. It was beautiful, and even calmed and awed the goblin inside of me.

  “Amazing,” I said. The jewel-like shimmering light had me nearly in a trance. I couldn’t stop staring at it, straining my neck to see its entirety.

  “What do you see, Hellsfire?” Prastian asked.

  Demay gulped. “Traps?”

  “No,” I whispered. “The tower. It’s not as drab and gloomy as you might think. It’s...beautiful. It’s a shame you lack the eyes of a wizard.”

  They shook their heads, unable to grasp the unbelievable sight we walked into. I tried to focus. Even though it enthralled me, I had to be on guard against the ancient and powerful magic that hid inside. If the gate’s enchantments were still active and the tower shone because of all the magic that was conducted here, what other enchantments could still be working?

  Premier had access to all of that. He might not have his own power, but that might have made him more dangerous. I couldn’t underestimate him. If only Stradus was still alive to help me. But because I had gotten Stradus killed, I had to be the magic against magic. Alone.

  CHAPTER 8

  Compared to the outside of the tower, the inside was dead and drab. The powerful, glaring residual magic I’d felt outside was no more. No Wasteland creatures were to be seen as we huddled near the entrance. We peered around, not moving more than a couple of steps from the doorway.

  We stood on a tattered and faded carpet in a cavernous entry hall, with numerous openings off it. Wind howled through the empty corridors. The top half of a banner, high above our heads, had come loose from t
he wall and swayed back and forth. Sconces along the stone walls held half-burned candles, but they weren’t lit. The little light in the room came through the windows, revealing tiny dust specks swirling through the air.

  I ran my finger across a nearby wooden table. A thin film of dust coated it. This was unlike Premier. Back in his tower in Alexandria, Premier was unusually fastidious. Even when that bastard had dissected an ogre for displeasing him, he didn’t make as big a mess as anyone else butchering an animal would have. If Premier had let the castle go to this extent, what did it mean?

  According to Kemek, Premier hadn’t been seen in a while, but he could be anywhere in this gigantic place. I stared into one of many empty, darkened corridors. He was here and he was hiding, but where?

  “Can you elves hear anything?” Jastillian whispered.

  Their ears twitched about and they cocked their heads from side to side. I held my breath for several tense moments. The elves shook their heads.

  “I don’t see anything either,” Jastillian said.

  The map from Alexandria’s library may have been out of date, but the one from Stradus hopefully wasn’t. It showed us that Renak’s old throne room was near the top of the tower, and with any luck, Premier would be there.

  My friends studied at the map, discussing any corridors and passageways where an ambush could lie in wait. Just because we didn’t see any creatures right now, didn’t mean that there weren’t any hiding upstairs. I let them handle that; I had to pay attention to more than the conventional traps.

  I extended my wizard senses, searching for any signs of magic, no matter how faint they were. I ran into a couple of problems.

  There was a haze of magic lurking inside Renak’s tower, lingering like background noise. Premier could use that to mask any spells until it was time to spring the traps.

  Also, the more I listened, the louder grew the faint beating noise I had heard outside. It tugged on me, filling my very being. Even my friends’ voices began to drown in it. I looked down at my feet, trying to see through the stone floor. Whatever it was, was down there, and very powerful. Could it be the nexus Demay had found reference to?

  I had a hard time focusing on other, possibly more intrusive magic because of it. It worried me that Premier might be accessing all that power. Could it be a spell that he was working on right now? Or was it an enchantment worked into the very construction of the tower?

  I told my friends about it, worried about where to start first. If Premier was in the middle of a ritual, he was probably below, at the source of the power, and we needed to stop him as soon as possible. If not, he was probably in the throne room.

  Prastian said, “It’s your decision, Hellsfire. We’ll search in whichever direction you want to go first.”

  I glanced to the right, seeing a staircase that led upstairs, and then to the left, seeing one leading downstairs. If I made the wrong choice, it could be disastrous.

  “We’ll go up,” I said. “The power feels too different from when I fought Premier. It probably isn’t him.” I searched their faces, wondering if they would ask the question I feared. Would magic cast through an avatar be different than magic cast without one? They didn’t ask, and I would find out.

  Behast and Jastillian drew their weapons. Prastian and Demay restrung their bows and nocked arrows in them. I summoned my magic and took the lead as we ventured into the tower.

  I scanned for any magical traps. Behast and Jastillian flanked my two sides. Demay and Prastian fell in behind.

  We slowly crept our way through the tower in complete silence. In the hallways, unlit torches hung on the walls. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t dare light them. But without them, the tall ceilings were lost in shadow. I worried that archers or other Wasteland monsters could lie above, waiting to entrap us. I let my magic senses guide me, while Jastillian used his heightened eyesight and the elves their powerful ears.

  The silence in the tower bothered me more than anything else. I had gotten used to being in Alexandria with its bustle of guards, servants, and nobles. They rattled trays; they coughed, laughed, and joked; conversations were whispered, and swords and armor clanged as they walked. Here, it was dead quiet.

  But it was far from empty.

  It felt as if the tower’s eyes were upon us, watching us every step of the way. I couldn’t shake that feeling, no matter how many desolate rooms and empty corridors we searched. Every turned corner and every opened door, I expected something to jump out and attack us. Nothing did, but that feeling of being under observant eyes never left. I worried that it was Premier and that he had created a spell to watch us, but my bones knew it to be the ancient tower itself. We stalked the place in silence, but I didn’t know if we were the hunter or the hunted.

  Most of the rooms were stark and bare. There were so many rooms that Premier didn’t need to use them all. We didn’t see any signs that Wasteland creatures stayed here. From what we had learned, Premier preferred to keep them outside. He didn’t care about the creatures; he only used them, the way one uses a knife for bread.

  Down one of the hallways, we came upon a broken mirror. Shards of it littered the floor, and a tiny trickle of dried blood was stuck against the frame. Had someone been attacked here? Or had Premier destroyed it in a fit of temper?

  We climbed five stories of stairs before reaching the top. I rubbed my hands against my aching thighs. According to the map, there were only a handful of rooms on the top floor. We gathered near the stairs. At the end of the long, darkened hallway were the closed double doors to Renak’s old throne room. The torches weren’t burning in this corridor either. If Premier was here, he would likely have lit them. But we had to make sure.

  I closed my eyes and quieted my mind, digging past the residual magic of the tower and the beating magic at the bottom. I stared at the door at the end of the hall and felt it with my magical senses. Premier was there. His magic was very weak, weaker than the centuries-old magic in the tower, but I knew his magical signature. I had experienced it when he fought me and killed Stradus.

  “He’s there,” I whispered, pointing down the corridor.

  “Are you sure, lad?” Jastillian asked.

  I nodded. I reached into my purse and fingered the binding potion. Premier wasn’t going to do this peacefully or quietly. I needed one shot to throw the vial at him.

  “Then let’s go,” Prastian said.

  I continued leading the way. We searched the first three rooms, wary of any surprises. Those empty rooms didn’t reassure us, and neither did the quiet. Sure enough, when we stepped in front of the fourth room, the torches along the walls exploded into flame. The magic was brief and ferocious, but it was enough to temporarily blind me. I stumbled, reaching out with my arms.

  “Look out!” Behast yelled. He pulled on my robes, then pushed me out of the way. I slammed into the wall just as a granite club passed where I had been.

  An ogre wearing full gold-tinted body armor rushed out of the open doorway and blocked our way. A helm masked his face, but from his size, I knew it could only be one ogre—Baal. The one who had carried out Premier’s orders when he was preparing to attack Alexandria. He seemed to be the only creature Premier trusted. If the ferocious creatures outside knew Premier was weakened, they might attack him, but Baal was protecting him.

  Prastian and Demay drew on the ogre and loosed their arrows. The metal-tipped heads pinged off the ogre’s helm. They aimed once more, trying to find an opening in the ogre’s armor. Baal didn’t let them. He raised his club and attacked.

  Jastillian and Behast recovered, blocking Baal’s path and facing off with him. The pair of veteran warriors engaged the ogre, thrusting and parrying in a deadly dance. Because Behast was raised and trained by dwarves, the pair fought well together, never getting in the other’s way. They tested the ogre’s defenses, attempting to find an opening. Even though the ogre possessed superior brute strength, he didn’t force it like most of his kind. Baal took his time, feeling out m
y friends’ abilities. Behast and Jastillian tried to circle around Baal in the wide hallway. The ogre cut them off, using the stone wall and his huge club as stopping points. Prastian and Demay continued to shoot arrows, but they merely glanced off his armor.

  I brought my mana to the surface, getting ready to use it on the ogre, when I saw the shimmering aura around the armor with my wizard’s sight. I cursed. The armor was enchanted against magic.

  “I can’t use my magic against him,” I said, lowering my fire-encased hand. “He’s shielded against it.”

  “And we can’t penetrate his armor,” Prastian said, peering down his bow’s sights. “He’s too well protected. We’re just wasting arrows.”

  “There must be something we can do,” Demay said.

  I stared at the ogre’s armor. My magic couldn’t get past it and the arrows needed to be precise to slip between the ogre’s plating while he moved. Maybe if I combined the two?

  “I have an idea,” I said. “I’ll guide your arrows so they’ll get past Baal’s defenses. Get ready.”

  The brothers nodded.

  “Jastillian and Behast, move!” I bellowed. “Now!”

  My elven companions let their strings go. Behast and Jastillian leapt out of the way as the arrows spun into the air and flew towards them. Time slowed as I focused on the arrows. I reached into the air mana, pulling it within me until I felt the hallway’s air move. Each footstep, each body shift, each swing of the sword disturbed the air. I honed in on the air around the arrows, feeling the ripples of their flight. I tightened the wind around the arrows until I wrestled it under control, forcing them to go where I wanted.

  Baal swatted one arrow, shattering the spell and the arrow. When his arm swirled to hit the other one, I spun it around. The arrow glided over his club and twirled down. I pushed, driving the arrow into the opening in the back of his knee where the plates were forced to part.

  Baal howled in pain and black blood seeped from his wound. He backed off, dragging his right leg. Jastillian and Behast renewed their attack against their wounded opponent. Baal continued to fight, switching to a defensive stance. The ogre started to yield ground.